I Want to Dance

I really should stay away from dance competition shows. I’ve watched them for years, going back to my youth and PBS ballroom competitions that were at once impressive and funny. Oh, they took themselves so seriously! These were dance ninjas – gracefully elbowing competitors for better positions in front of the judges. I can only imagine what back stage must have been like – with their pomaded hair and spangled costumes and eyes that would cut you like sharp steel.

Now we have “Dancing with the Stars” and “So You Think You Can Dance”. Each, in its own creepy way, has much to offer.

DWTS certainly has dancing. Stars, not so much. It would seem that the barrel of “stars” is a small one, and each season they seem to dip deeper and deeper. It is interesting, though, to watch the season. Some improve, some don’t – I am uncanny with my accuracy as to who is going home. Really, if I were in Vegas I could bet. I wonder if they have a DWTS “book”?

SYTYCD is an entirely different breed of leotard. These are youngsters – 18 and maybe a little older. They can bend, leap, and twirl. The comments are often absurd. But there is no doubt that there is, on display, a rarified sample of the skilled and talented.

Time was, dancing was not a spectator sport. Social events often centered around dancing, complete with lingering glances. Today, I would be hard pressed, to find a venue for my urge to dance.

I could square dance. (I have some claim to this. My grandfather was a noted caller, and had custom satin Western shirts to accommodate his 19.5 inch neck. He was delightful.) Square dancing, however, requires that you join a club and these days you also have to wear those skirts held out to the horizontal with a frightening layering of crinolines.

Your partner has to be willing to go along, usually wearing a shirt made of the same fabric as your dress. Try as I might, I cannot see The Kenny doing this.

There is also the possibility of taking ballroom dancing classes. I suggested this to The Kenny and we took up shooting instead. It turns out I am an excellent shot, and I am an enthusiast at the range. However, I suspect that gunpoint is the only way I will get him to ballroom lessons. I would, however, love to see him Tango.

I have considered Tap Dance lessons. I tried this in my youth but showed no talent. I recall we worked for months on the same routine and only got about a minute into it. My teacher used her basement, had professional wooden tap shoes, and a flap in her tongue where she had bit it once when she was dancing. (I recall her son also had surgery to remove a suspicious hump/lump on his back which turned out to be a malformed twin, but that’s another story.)

I also tried ballet. Tried. The shoes, however, were fabulous.

Now, when I am actually feeling the urge to dance, I can see that I have waited too late. But I never showed any innate skill. My sense of rhythm is about as well developed as my ball-catching skills.

But I have the urge. I am looking for an outlet. And a leotard.